


we are always shadows

by kwritten



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rousseau for Queen and Sayid, her loyal Huntsman </p><p> </p><p>a/n: first-ever LOST fic. Be kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are always shadows

In another life, with her hair curling soft around her shoulders and a crown upon her brow, she was young and pure.

_She was not dirty and ragged and tired. She did not grow mad from loneliness._

In another life, she was power and might and kindness and goodness, she smelled of sweet things and  precious things and her life was calm and sweet.

_She was not forgotten. She did not destroy her world._

Her child grows up careful, modest, wild; a mass of curling hair and smiles and the softest heart. Close to her, her hands always near, always grasping, always clasping and seeking.

They are together and they are a family and she is the morning sun.

She was innocent.

_She is always the past and he is always the future, they are always present in each other's gaze. Her innocence is a game, her heart only momentarily solid, her pain only a footfall away._

He rises from the ranks, he is so young. He kneels before her and she knows the pain in his sad, brown eyes.

He is soft, he is gentle.

She remembers a time when they were both broken and bleeding and raw, it is there in his eyes. A memory not yet formed, shrugged away to protect her young, fresh heart.

Her Huntsman. His Queen.

She needs him to be ruthless where she is forgiving; he carries her sharp tongue on his sword. His strength bears the weight of her crown as she sits serenely beneath it.

He is hard, he is rough.

Some nights, with her daughter on his knee and the wounds of battle gleaming in the light of the fire, she knows this is not always how it will be.

And yet it will always be the same.

Through time bound, locked, always interwoven. Always careening towards a darkness they are forever bracing for. Together alone, side by side.

Hands never clasping, skin never touching, souls always twisting and curling over, under, in-between.

If she does not know his pain now, she will. She watches him, she keeps him close, prepares herself for the day when she will recognize herself in his eyes.

There will come a day when that dull blackness behind his eyes will reflect in hers.

On that day, she will need this mirror, she will need this young man with his curling hair and his scarred body to look back upon her, as no man but he dares to look, to reflect her darkness back to her.

It seems to her sheltered heart that he is only waiting, his eyes seeking out hers, searching for the thing that binds.

She does not know his pain now.

But she always will.

A queen. And her huntsman.

 


End file.
